Rocket Man
by ns.108
Summary: "It worked." Set initially in Season Three, an imagining of what House and Cuddy procreating would have looked like. Written years ago, spruced up a bit and obvious grammar mistakes fixed, for your enjoyment.


"Rocket Man" by ns.108

 _Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids_  
 _In fact it's cold as hell_  
 _And there's no one there to raise them if you did_  
 _And all this science I don't understand_

Elton John

 **II.**

"Mom, I'm not going to the gallows," Graham managed hoarsely, delicately pushing his mother's fingers back. "You can loosen it up a bit."

"Sorry. Your grandmother will kill me if it's not perfect," Lisa Cuddy frowned, pulling the now creased black strip from her son's collar.

As she fiddled with it and then undid it to began again, Graham chuckled.

"You could tell her I'm not twelve anymore and you're not responsible for my recklessness, including any slightly askew bowties."

"Then I'd have to admit it to myself," Cuddy told him with a smirk, finally securing the tie. "There you go. Now don't take any deep breaths, or talk too much."

"Think saying 'I do' a couple times will foul it up?" he asked, turning slightly to look past her into the mirror, tugging on his lapels and then unconsciously running a hand through his dark crop of hair.

"Possibly but she'll be crying by then and the tears will obscure her vision," she said softly, watching him and trying to fight the same impulse.

"Thanks," Graham replied, turning to face her again. "You should go sit. Noah's out there waiting to escort you to your seat."

"Okay." Pressing a kiss to the—for once—clean-shaven hollow in her son's cheek, Cuddy swallowed hard. "I didn't want to cry."

"Want me to say something inappropriate to ruin the sentiment?" he asked cordially with a raise of his eyebrows and a half smile that made her heart skip a beat.

"No, thanks," She admonished him with a light poke in the gut. "I love you."

"I love you, too." This time Graham placed the kiss on her cheek, and gave her a quick squeeze of a hug.

"Now go sit and try not to think about when I said my first word, or took my first steps, or the first day I went off to kindergarten, or—,"

With a roll her of her eyes, Cuddy flashed him a blended smile of amusement and exasperation before leaving him so he could have a few private moments before the ceremony.

 **XII.**

"You can change your mind."

She took a quick sip of tea so the crack in her voice was filled by chamomile.

With a shrug and turn of his palm, he said, "I have no reason to."

"You have no reason to do this—," she made a gesture around the table, which he interrupted by putting up his own hand.

"—if I'm going to have to listen to you blather on about this kid for the next hundred years, it'll help to know it isn't some little dweeb."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." Pushing away the polite cup of coffee he accepted, House stood and stalked unevenly to the kitchen doorway, looking away as he spoke.

"I drove around your block four times before I stopped. If I wanted to change my mind I would have then, when I would have been able to do it without any muss or fuss."

"Well, if you didn't change your mind about that, you can change it about this part," Cuddy managed, after a quiet moment of surprise and emotion that stuck in her chest and made words a little laborious to come up with. "Maybe us doing it this way isn't…"

"Why would I miss out on the best part? For the sake of office politics?" he queried, flashing a grin that prodded at her stomach.

"No, it might just make things…complicated. Not at work, but…"

"Cuddy, did you change your mind about this?"

"No. No. I just…" Seeing him there in the inky shadows of her dimly lit kitchen and feeling his eyes on her was unspeakably unnerving. "I'm scared."

"Of what? Carrying The Bad Seed? If it's a boy, you know prophecy dictates he should be named Damien. Luckily you're already a jackal—,"

She laughed then, a gush of relief at a tiny gesture, and then stood nervously to rinse her cup out. As she did so, he shuffled behind her and as she placed the cup on the drying rack, pressed his fingers lightly into the skin around her hipbones, like she was a piano he was making sure was in tune.

"I think we should do this before you completely psyche yourself out. Studies show the kid is cooler if the mother orgasms during conception," he murmured, the sentiment technically true even if his vocabulary was informal and his nose was nudging the sensitive patch of flesh behind her ear and his breath was casting warm waves down her neck.

"House." She warned…someone.

"Don't worry. I'm up to it, just like I was last time—,"

"—You're right. Let's do this." Gently wriggling out of his grasp, Cuddy took his hand and gently lead him towards the bedroom, taking back control because as unreal as this was, it was still House, and letting herself go with him was always dangerous.

 **IV.**

Picking up the melancholic melody from the driveway, Cuddy slowly pushed the front door of her house open, peering around in the dusky light to see the source.

"Hey," she greeted, closing the door behind her softly so as not to break the fluidity of the music.

"Hey," Graham replied darkly, his fingers never pausing over the keys and his eyes never diverting from the music even though she knew he didn't need to be staring at it as he was.

Flicking on a lamp, Cuddy asked, "How was school?"

"Fine," came his sullen reply, this time accompanied by a glare at the lamp.

"Learn anything cool?"

With a scoff, he hit a note with more force than he should have. "How could I? They're all idiots."

"Well at least they're no different than the idiots at your school in Princeton."

"At least there I knew who to avoid."

Sliding onto the couch facing the piano, Cuddy waited until he finished the piece before asking, "What was that?"

"Something I've been writing during Calculus," he replied without any pride, shutting the cover on the keys but not leaving the bench.

"It's nice."

"Thanks."

As he ran his finger along the black wood in the crease of the piano, Cuddy sat forward. "Look, Graham, this isn't—,"

"—I know. It's not a punishment. It's a new step in life, an adventure, and it can be fun and I can grow from it if I just put my mind to it, try to make friends, keep a positive attitude, et cetera. Did I hit the major points?"

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Cuddy continued evenly. "I hate to see you unhappy."

"If that were true, you wouldn't have destroyed my life," Graham snapped, dropping his head so his black tendrils curtained over his hooded eyes.

"Your life is not destroyed, at least not by me, and not because we came to Michigan," she persisted, her voice stern. "It will be harder, for both of us, if you don't change your attitude."

With that she grabbed her bag and strode towards the back to her office, threw her briefcase onto her desk and herself into her chair, holding her head in her hands for a long time before getting back to the paperwork she'd interrupted to come home.

She wasn't sure how long it was before the door creaked open and his shower-dampened head poked in.

"I got dinner." He mumbled.

Raising her eyebrows in surprise, Cuddy tilted her head and removed her glasses.

"From where?"

"Did some searching online. Apparently," he was bearing two take-out containers as he entered her office, setting them on a clear space, "the Greek restaurant down the road is renowned for their dolmas. And they deliver."

Watching as he carefully unpacked the delivery, Cuddy smiled and tried not to let the tears in her eyes catch her voice.

"That was very sweet of you, Graham."

With a shrug and a mouthful of grape leaves and rice, Graham averted his eyes.

"Not too sweet. You paid for it."

 **XI.**

"It worked."

"Sex change finally took?" House replied glibly, never averting his eyes from the folder in front of him even though he caught the tone of voice in which Cuddy spoke from his office doorway. "Wilson will be happy to hear, he's been waiting with bated breath."

"No," she continued, now at his desk, as she snagged the folder and pushed it down so he could see her face and meaningful expression. _"It worked."_

His face completely unresponsive, House put the folder all the way down and sat back slowly.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you," Cuddy said triumphantly, and then again with a quiver in her chin, "Thank you."

An awkwardly full moment passed between them, broken by House's lecherous remark, "Believe me, it was my pleas—,"

Cuddy put her hands up and grinned, two tears blossoming on her lashes.

"—Don't ruin it."

Unable to not grin, House called after her as she left, "Don't suppose you're going to want to shoot for a sibling after you squeeze this one out?"

 **V.**

"Just came to see you off," Wilson explained needlessly as he followed Cuddy through her mostly-empty house.

"Thanks," she replied over her shoulder, leading him to the kitchen. "I only have Diet Coke to offer you."

With a shake of his head, Wilson refused. "Where's Graham?"

"Kicking a soccer ball around in the back. Sulking," Cuddy replied, tilting her head towards the window overlooking the backyard.

"Still not taking to the whole Michigan idea?" Wilson asked, joining her by the window to watch the boy juggle the black and white ball with his head bowed.

"Let's just say it's going to be a long drive."

Noting the glower on Graham's face, Wilson slowly looked over at Cuddy.

"Whatever it is he did, or said, since the two of you—,"

"—this isn't about him." She cut him off abruptly, her voice more final than the crack of a whip.

"I know it isn't," Wilson assured her, shrugging. "Entirely."

"It isn't at all," Cuddy insisted, moving around him to finishing packing a box that was open on her counter.

Turning around to lean back against the counter, Wilson folded his arms.

"So you're just uprooting your and your fourteen-year-old son's entire lives, leaving the most secure job you could have in the city you've lived for three decades because—,"

"—I lived in Ann Arbor, once, too," She defended lamely, straightening after a moment. "I'll be making just as much, and the position is just as secure as mine is here."

"Exactly. People don't change their whole life for a lateral move unless there's something else—,"

"James," Her voice was a warning this time.

"I just don't want you to leave for any reason other than—,"

With a slam of the box, Cuddy cut him off again. "No one is chasing me out, and I'm not running from anything. This is what is best, for me and for Graham."

"Yes, he looks pleased," Wilson remarked with a nod at the window.

Cuddy shook her head. "He just can't see that this is for the best, in all his infinite fourteen-year-old wisdom."

"Or maybe he sees more than you do."

 **X.**

"Boo."

Whirling around and gasping so hard she almost choked, Cuddy gaped at him.

"My God, you almost gave me a heart attack," she informed House, who had been bouncing his tennis ball on the floor in her office as he sat hunched in the chair across from her desk.

"Better you than the little guy. He's got a diabolical plan to take you down from the inside while I work on the outside," House remarked, ceasing the bouncing as she made her way around the desk, a delicate maneuver at six months pregnant.

"Don't worry, he's working on it, one Braxton-Hicks contraction after another. I can't get a night's rest anymore."

Sitting back and turning the ball in his hands, House frowned. "That bad? That often?"

"It's nothing to be concerned about."

"Awfully blasé for a woman who's batting 0-2 in the successful baby department."

"I had it checked out by my doctor. She says everything is fine."

"She? Well there's your first mistake."

Pressing her lips together, Cuddy glared at him from behind the paper she'd picked up to read. "Are you trying to scare me?"

"No, just pointing out that maybe you should get a second opinion."

"Whose? My doctor is the best in the region."

"Second best."

Realizing what he meant, Cuddy laughed disbelievingly. "You are not doing an exam."

"I'm already familiar with the geography, the climate…"

Raising her eyebrows and shimmying in disgust, Cuddy shook her head. "Look, if it matters that much—,"

Apparently that was too far, because he sat forward immediately. "It doesn't. I don't care, I'm just saying."

"Right," Cuddy said, putting the paper down and folding her arms on it. "Since it doesn't matter that much, and you don't care…I will get a second opinion, but not yours."

"Fine," House grumbled.

"Good. Now go, I have paperwork to finish and an ornery baby who is holding my insides hostage and wants to eat his weight tacos before it's too late."

 **VII.**

"Hey, Mom. I thought Patrick was picking me up today?"

Leaning across the car to kiss her son's sweaty forehead, Cuddy smiled thoughtfully.

"He was. But I, uh, got out of work early. And I want to talk to you about something."

"Okay. What's wrong?" Graham asked, roughly uncapping his sports drink and pouring it down his throat.

"Nothing. No, no, nothing's wrong," she's assured him, easing the car into the congestion of traffic around the soccer field.

"Then what is it?"

"It's…" Deciding they had a long traffic jam in front of them, Cuddy turned towards him as much as she could in her seatbelt.

"Patrick and I…we're not going to be getting married anymore."

Swallowing a gulp of the bright yellow fluid, Graham frowned.

"Oh." Furrowing his brow deeper and examining his mother, he asked quickly, "Did he do something to you?"

"No, no." Cuddy replied, "It just wasn't right."

Now flicking the cap of his bottle back and forth, Graham didn't look at her when he asked, "Was it because…of me?"

"What? No, Graham, Patrick loves you."

Leaning his head back against the car seat, Graham leveled his gaze at her again.

"Then what, Mom?"

"Things have…changed."

"Changed? Like, good changes? Or bad changes, like when you offered for Grandma to move in for a few months last summer?"

With a grin and a playful slap on the shoulder, Cuddy laughed. "Good changes…yes, good."

"…that you'll tell me about later?" Graham asked as the traffic began to surge in front of them.

"Yes. Later."

Cuddy broke hard a few moments later when he asked, half-innocently, "Does it have anything to do with Dr. House coming over last night?"

 **IX.**

"So, are there rules?"

Taking a particularly wet slurp on his lollipop, House looked at Wilson. "About what?"

"Like, can I say he looks like you?" Wilson asked, nodding through the window in the maternity ward at the writhing, blue-clad figure behind it.

"Wouldn't recommend saying it in front of Cuddy, she'll be offended. Or Cameron—she might cry. But for a different reason."

With a chuckle, Wilson looked wistfully at the infant. "He does. Dr. Sirak said he came out scowling."

"Makes sense. He knows what kind of mother is waiting for him. Wire hangers, perverse sense of guilt, enormous Freudian breasts…"

Wilson acted as if he hadn't spoken when he said softly, "She's going to be a wonderful mother."

A few minutes passed before a nurse in multi-pastel-colored scrubs appeared at the side of the bed and picked up the infant, nodding with a smile at the observing men before she carried him away.

Turning away, Wilson watched as House hobbled to a nearby garbage can to throw the stick away.

"You going to go in and see them?"

"Can't," House replied, moving away from the wing towards the elevators.

"What, something more pressing? Clinic hours? Prostate exam?" Wilson called.

"General Hospital."

It was dark when he went back, and it cost him twenty dollars to get the orderly to let him into the nursery.

He was only there a few minutes when he heard the pad of other feet behind him and turned to see Cuddy in the doorway, swaddled and small in the huge robe Wilson had bought her that was the same color as her eyes.

"You shouldn't be walking around," He scolded her, barely above a whisper as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair he hunkered into.

"Shouldn't you be sitting in front of TiVo?" she asked, her voice still a little raw but her smile fresh, making her look twenty again.

"Why when I could see a live-action version of Alien right here?" House nodded at the hospital crib on the end, where Graham David Cuddy was sleeping. "Any minute now, he's going to show his true colors."

Smiling still, Cuddy slowly made her way to his side and placed a chaste kiss on House's closed mouth.

"Thank you."

"You already said that."

"Can't I say it again?"

"Only if you let me get to second base next time."

Letting her eyes go to her son, Cuddy whispered, "Do you want to…hold him?"

She had been afraid to ask, but something had made her, and that same something made him pause before he replied.

"Some of the cute might rub off. Ruin my reputation." Standing, House took her elbow gently. "And you really should be on your back. Bring it full circle to the night of conception. You can get a good look at him every day for the next eighteen years, at least."

When they made it to the door of her room, Cuddy turned and squeezed his hand before it left her elbow.

"Good night, House." In the dark, she let some moisture fall from her eyes. "And, if you ever want to hold him…"

"I know, I know." He replied, his voice even softer. "I'll just sketch a pentagram on the floor and chant I Summon Thee."

 **VI.**

"Patrick, say something," Cuddy implored him as he stared at her living room floor, his hands clutching at his hair.

"I'm an idiot," he finally mumbled.

Wincing, Cuddy shook her head. "No, you're not. There's no way—,"

"I saw how you two were together, always. Even before I knew he was Graham's…I should have seen…" Shaking his head Patrick brought it up, letting his arms rest on his thighs.

"Patrick, I didn't even know until—," she stopped when he stood and held up a hand.

"No. You did, a part of you did, a long time ago. That's why I can't even be mad, because I am the one who should have known never to get mixed up in this." He gestured at her and her surroundings disdainfully, pacing.

"I understand you're angry, and you have every reason in the book to be that way—,"

"—He's going to hurt you." He said abruptly, planting both hands on his hips. "You know that, right?"

Her mouth ajar, Cuddy stammered, "I can't know any—,"

"—No. You can know. He's never done anything but hurt you. And he's going to do it again," Patrick shook his head sadly, "and this time it's going to be you and Graham, and I don't know if that boy has enough of your masochist streak to enjoy it."

Cuddy's voice hardened. "Please don't involve Graham, or House. This is about you and me."

"That's some joke. 'Don't involve Graham or House.' Lisa, who do you think you're kidding? It's all about them, for you. Only them."

"Graham is my son. He always comes first."

Patrick nodded emphatically, adding, "And House comes second, and that's where it ends. There's no third place."

Ramrod straight on the couch, Cuddy told him evenly, "You're being hurtful, now. I think you should go."

"I'm trying to warn you, because I love you," he told her forcefully, meaningfully. "I love you, Lisa, and I love Graham."

"I know," Cuddy quietly replied.

"Has he ever said that, to either of you?"

Shaking her head slowly but not meeting his eyes, she told him, "That's not the point."

"It is, Lisa." Patrick snapped, opening the front door and stepping over the threshold, but not leaving before telling her,

"Because for him, he comes first and that's where it ends. There's not even a second place."

 **VIII.**

"'lo?"

"You're still alive?"

Cuddy rolled over on her back, the phone cord stretching across the floral print of her comforter.

"House?"

"No, the Angel of Death. Your days are numbered." He tried his best at a malevolent cackle, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Funny."

With a sigh, he continued. "Heard you recreated Munchkinland in your house today—,"

"Yeah. His fifth birthday party—," Cuddy began dreamily, the images and smells and memories of the elapsed day coming back vividly even though she was half-asleep.

"—And I see you avoided all those falling houses—,"

"—It was great. One of the little girls from his class puked on the carpet, another little bully of a child broke one of my dining room chairs—,"

"—but I talked to Wilson after and it didn't sound like he got that brain he's been hoping for. Shucks—,"

"—but Graham loved the magician, and the cake, and the music, and he spent all day laughing that really excited, beautiful laughter he does when he's really happy—,"

"—I should have gone along, seen if the man behind the curtain could get me a new thigh muscle—,"

"—and when I put him to bed tonight he told me, Being happy is exhausting—,"

"—but I hear it's all a hoax."

"—and I love him more than I've ever loved anyone in my life. It's...magic. Real life magic."

They listened to each other breathe for a while, before Cuddy sleepily murmured, "Good night, House."

"'Night, Glinda."

 **I.**

"I'm glad you made it, cold weather and all," Cuddy told Wilson as he gently guided her to the left, hitting the note of the song better than any of the other couples on the dance floor.

"It's a nice change. Good for the lungs," he replied, his eyes crinkling heavily with his smile, his silvery shock of hair falling a bit over his brow.

Edging closer and squeezing his palm, Cuddy sighed. "What is the average temperature in Clearwater this time of year?"

"A breezy 74 when I left for the airport," he reported wistfully, smiling again.

"Sounds beautiful."

Wilson nodded, and they did a half-turn on the downbeat.

"When are you going to officially fly south for the winter?"

With another sigh, Cuddy shrugged lightly, her rose-colored suit shifting under Wilson's palms.

"I was considering next year, but now…can't leave just when I might get some grandchildren."

Wilson chuckled warmly, dropping his head a bit so the stray hair tickled her forehead.

"Wow."

"Frightening, isn't it?" She asked softly, her eyes wandering to her son and his new wife as they did the obligatory rounds to thank the guests. Graham caught her eye, and winked.

"Very." Wilson remarked, noticing the exchange. "Mostly just the thought of what House the Grandfather would have been like."

"That's what I was thinking, too. All day," Cuddy admitted for the first time to herself, and only to Wilson, who held her a little tighter in consolation.

Keeping beat, Wilson murmured, "Who would have thought?"

With a bittersweet taste in her mouth and half-smile, Cuddy shook her head almost imperceptibly. "Not me."

"It's a very curious thing, how things work out," Wilson remarked, swaying her so she could see the other half of the room.

"Thank God, for that. There were some times when I was sure they weren't going to."

Wilson nodded in agreement.

"But they did. They did for you, because you made them. You made all of this happiness," he told her softly, genuinely, and tears prickled behind her eyes and threatened the carefully applied makeup around them.

"He said once I wouldn't ever be happy."

"Even the mastermind can get something wrong." Wilson tipped his head back a bit to see her smiling, even as tears produced themselves on her cheeks. "What?"

"The damnedest thing is how much he had to do with it."

 **III.**

"How long are you going to be in New Jersey?"

Cuddy slowly and ceremoniously brought the garment bag closed around her black suit.

"Uhm...I don't know, a few days."

Dancing one hand lightly over the piano keys, Graham eyed her from the bench.

"Why can't I go?"

With a sigh, Cuddy smoothed the closed bag. "Because you have class."

"I can miss a 'few days,' I'm a senior," He assured her softly, playing the opening bars of a sonata.

"Exactly. All the reason you shouldn't. Soak up your last bits of high school life."

With a snort, Graham shook his head. "Yeah, great. I have a biology exam."

"Then that settles it." Cuddy said with a dry smirk. "Besides, why would you want to come?"

Pausing for a moment and slowing his playing, Graham shrugged. "I liked him."

Cuddy felt her heart in her chest, heavy and hurting.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Graham replied, his voice dropping off sadly.

Moving around the dining room table to stand behind him, Cuddy placed a kiss in the crown of his dark mane.

After a moment, he turned and looked up at her with so much a man's face her heart stopped.

"You don't want anyone to come with you…for you?"

"Uncle James will be there." She assured him, skating her hand through the ends of his waves.

"Yeah, but…does he know?"

Freezing with her hand in his hair, Cuddy frowned. "Know what?"

"You know," Graham intimated with a movement of his head.

"No, I don't."

With an awkward sigh, Graham shifted. "C'mon, Mom, it's weird."

"What's weird?"

Resigned, Graham sighed.

"Does he know that you, like...loved Dr. House?"

 _The end_


End file.
